He had now a guide, but it was hard to follow, with his strength fast falling and the savage wind buffeting him.  He had stopped a moment, gasping, when something emerged from the driving snow.  It was moving; it looked like a team with a sledge or wagon, and he thought that his companions had come in search of him.  He cried out, but there was no answer, and though he tried to run, the beasts vanished as strangely as they had appeared.

They had, however, left their tracks, coming up from the south, where the settlement lay, and this convinced him that they had not been driven by Edgar or Grierson.  He made an attempt to overtake them and, falling, went on again, wondering a little who the strangers could be; though this was not a matter of much consequence.  If they had blankets or driving-robes, they might pass the night without freezing in the bluff, where there was fuel; but George was most clearly conscious of the urgent need for his reaching the homestead before his strength gave out.

At last he struck the beaten trail which had fortunately not yet been drifted up, and after keeping to it for a while he saw a faint twinkle of light in front of him.  A voice answered his shout and when he stopped, keeping on his feet with difficulty and utterly worn out, a team came up, blurred and indistinct, out of the driving snow.  After that somebody seized him and pushed him toward an empty sledge.

“Get down out of the wind; here’s the fur robe!” cried a voice he recognized.  “We came back as soon as we had thrown off the load.”

George remembered very little about the remainder of the journey, but at last the sledge stopped where a warm glow of light shone out into the snow.  Getting up with some trouble he reached the homestead door and walked heavily into the room where he sank, gasping, into a chair.  He felt faint and dizzy, he could scarcely breathe; but those sensations grew less troublesome as he recovered from the violent change of temperature.  Throwing off his furs, he noticed that Flett sat smoking near the stove.

“Here’s some coffee,” said the constable.  “It’s pretty lucky Grierson found you.  I can’t remember a worse night.”

George drank the coffee.  He still felt heavy and partly dazed; his mind was lethargic, and his hands and feet tingled painfully with the returning warmth.  He knew that there was something he ought to tell Flett, but it was a few minutes before he could think clearly.

“I met a team near the bluff and lost it again almost immediately,” he mumbled finally.

Flett’s face became intent.

“Did the men who were with it see you?  Which way were they going?”

“No,” said George sleepily.  “Anyway, though I called I didn’t get an answer.  I think they were going west.”

“And there’s no homestead for several leagues, except Langside’s shack.  They’ll camp there sure.”

“I don’t see why they shouldn’t,” George remarked with languid indifference.